


Balletomane

by A_nonymous_000



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Gen, Low-key torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_nonymous_000/pseuds/A_nonymous_000
Summary: She dances, and dances, and dances.(Or: Pearl, servant to the horsewoman Famine, does what she must to keep her mistress happy).Four Horseman of the Apocalypse AU.





	Balletomane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lailavelmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lailavelmon/gifts).



> 1: A gift for Lailavelmon. She wanted another Pearl piece after Monochromely wrote me Peace. (Which is an excellent read, I suggest you check it out!)  
> 2: Shoutout to my wonderful beta reader and co-creator of the Four Horseman AU. Thank you for helping me sculpt this into the finest version it could be, and always giving me honest feedback.   
> 3: A “balletomane” is the name of a ballet fan or enthusiast.   
> 4: The name of the end piece Pearl performs is The Dying Swan, from Tchaikovsky’s “Swan Lake.” It’s a very sad piece, and one we found fitting for Pearl’s circumstances.

_Balletomane_

 

 

Pearl used to love dancing.

 

When she was a little girl, was still human, she would perform for her parents. Or a small group of siblings, whom she would boss into sitting before her.

 

A fledgling ballerina she was. She’d straighten her back and perch on wobbly tip toes and extend her arms far, far out.  

 

In spite of her amateur talents, Pearl would always be met with a round of applause when she concluded.

 

This is nothing like this.

 

There is but an audience of one. There is no clapping.

 

And she  _ cannot _  be amateur.

 

(She gave up her humanity long ago, when Famine called upon her to eternally serve.)

 

Pearl pirouettes, and she knows her body will give out soon.

 

The fiery ache in her limbs subsided an hour ago. Another toe cracks as she lands a grand jete, and she forces down a pitiful sob.

 

As she dances, her body glistens like ice. Sweat drips off her limbs.

 

(Long ago, Pearl wondered how her mistress could _  stand _  such a disgusting sight. Now, she realises it’s just another sacrifice, another grotesque beauty for her god to relish in).

 

A pas de chat. Fifth position.

 

She tries to ignore the fact she can’t feel her arms.

 

(If you asked her what it felt like to be puppeteered, she’d answer through her rage and dim memories. She’d tell you that, in some twisted way, it felt  _ exciting.  _ Yes, it was the most unusual situation; her body suddenly moving by itself. Yet she quickly found she could pull those invisible strings. She could dance, and she’d never stop. She could perfect her art!

 

And, most importantly, she could make her mistress happy.

 

But then ten minutes became twenty. Twenty became forty. And now she is here, having danced for  _ hours _  without relief.)

 

Every  _ drop _  of her body is milked for her mistress’ entertainment.

 

Her breath is starting to appear in puffs of steam.

 

(Sometimes, more often that not now, Pearl dreams of a forbidden name, and flying away.)

 

_ Now _ , she faintly says to herself, and something in the last bit of her alights.

 

She turns away, positions her achingly sore feet together, and Pearl spreads her wings.

 

She holds them for a second, then forces then down, then up, then-- faster now-- up and down, up and down.

 

Just before her torso folds in on itself, Pearl flies.

 

Her head remains steady, staring at the endlessly high ceiling. She flies, and fails, and tries, tries to fly away.

 

The ground is forgiving as her broken body meets it.

 

Yet she knows her mistress doesn’t like idleness. She feels a few  seconds pass before, as if by an invisible cord, she is yanked upright again.

 

This time, Pearl is desperate in her movements. She can’t seem to care in this moment about the fact she’s hardly breathing.

 

More. More.

 

Yet. She can only fly for so long.

 

At last, Pearl  _ stretches _ , and slowly, slowly, she lowers her beaten body down.

 

(As if to giver herself shelter.)

 

She breathes once, twice, before forcing her head up.

 

High above, Famine smiles.

 

“That will be all, Pearl. You’ve done so well today.”

  
  
  



End file.
